


Achilles Come Down

by SilverCrane



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Gen, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Pre-Relationship, Pre-Slash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-08
Updated: 2021-03-08
Packaged: 2021-03-14 23:29:13
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,083
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29924490
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SilverCrane/pseuds/SilverCrane
Summary: Yahaba and Kentarou are not friends.They’re acquaintances, at best. Teammates. Classmates. Not friends.He’s not sure why teachers seem to think otherwise, grounding himself into the ground and glaring down at his home room teacher. She stares back up at him, thoroughly unintimidated.“Just bring them to Yahaba, would you?” She asks, pressing the envelope into his chest. “You two are on the same volleyball team, that has to mean something.”He inhales, exasperated, but takes the packet.There go his evening plans.
Relationships: Kyoutani Kentarou/Yahaba Shigeru
Comments: 6
Kudos: 46





	Achilles Come Down

**Author's Note:**

> Me? Projecting my problems on Yahaba? More likely than you’d think.  
> Anyways, I hope you enjoy! :)

Yahaba and Kentarou are not friends.

They’re acquaintances, at best. Teammates. Classmates. Not friends.

He’s not sure why teachers seem to think otherwise, grounding himself into the ground and glaring down at his home room teacher.

“Kyoutani, do I need to repeat myself?” She asks, although there’s really only one answer to that question. The packet of papers in her hand, extended halfway between them, goes untouched by him.

“I’m not close with Yahaba, why don’t you ask Watari?” He shifts, averts his gaze. He can see people watching him from inside the classroom- usually when Kentarou gets pulled out of class it leads to a spectacle, and his classmates thrive off of drama.

“Watari lives in the opposite direction. I know you and Yahaba are on the same volleyball team, and you live close enough to him that it won’t make too much of a difference in your commute.” She pushes the papers towards him again, and he finally relents, snatching them with a little too much force.

“Fine. Can I have his address too?” He bites his tongue to keep from adding a quip- he’s already gotten in trouble too many times this semester, and the last thing he wants to do is get taken off the team right before the inter-high.

She’s right, at least- Yahaba lives a station down from him, in a neighborhood he’s somehow managed to never go to. 

The train is empty when he gets on- practice usually runs late enough that he misses the evening rush. He takes his usual seat near the end and crosses his arms, glaring at anyone who tries to come close. 

It’s not like Yahaba to miss class.

According to the teacher, he hadn’t been there on Monday either, and Yahaba had even missed practice and a major math test. Completely unlike him. Watari too, was off. He had been skittish all practice, his eyes darting over to the bench every-so-often, where the coaches made them leave their phones. He missed more receives than Kentarou, an achievement Kunimi had relentlessly mocked.

It’s not that he’s worried about Yahaba. Not at all- but with the inter-high coming up, having their captain and starting setter out of the game is a serious handicap. And he knows Yahaba- better than he wants to. He knows that the setter is prone to overworking himself, a trait he had inherited from his predecessor. Kentarou has overheard enough hushed conversations between Watari and Yahaba to know that Yahaba is in no way good at pacing himself.

Yahaba’s apartment- because yes, Yahaba lives in an apartment, of course he does- takes him a few tries to find. It’s not exactly hard to locate- just hard to believe his teammate lives in a place like this, five stories tall and with doors that slide open on their own, and a security guard that glares at him until he shows him Yahaba’s address, written on the sticky note his teacher had gifted him.

Damn Yahaba.

He makes the trek up three flights of stairs- not because he needs to, because Yahaba’s place has an elevator- but because his fingers are twitching with pent-up energy, and if he doesn’t he might end up punching something.

Yahaba’s room is room 333, down the hallway. There’s an intercom, and it takes Yahaba three minutes to respond.

“Hello?” He greets, and Kentarou involuntarily bristles at the sound of his voice.

“Homework delivery.” He says bluntly, and there’s a crackling noise from the speaker.

“Kyoutani?” His tone somehow manages to sound incredulous despite the audio quality, and Kentarou rolls his eyes.

“Nah, the emperor. You gonna open the door or not?”

There’s a stretch of silence, and then a click as the intercom turns off.

Rude.

It takes another two minutes before the locks on the door go off, and Yahaba cracks it open a notch. The chain is still on, Kentarou notes. 

“I’m not gonna kill you or anything.” He huffs, and Yahaba’s eyes dart to the chain. He doesn’t uncouple it though, reaching his hand through the small gap.

“Thanks, I guess.” He says when Kentarou passes the envelope to him. 

“Yeah, whatever. You sick?” He asks, trying to make conversation for some reason. Yahaba’s eyes widen ever so slightly.

“Um. Don’t worry about me, I’ll be fine by the inter-high.” He waves the envelope, dismissing Kentarou’s concerns. He notes how Yahaba doesn’t answer the question, but doesn’t comment.

“You better.” He leaves it at that, stepping back a few steps. Yahaba watches him go, stepping away from the door.

It happens in a second- Yahaba’s face crumples, contorting into a grimace, and he suddenly becomes shorter. No- he must have slipped, or fallen, because he’s still gripping the door, his knee slamming into the ground with a loud thud.

“Shit.” He mutters, and the door slams shut.

“W-“ Kentarou scowls, stepping forward. “Yahaba?” He knocks- more like pounds- on the door. “What the fuck?”

What was that? Was Yahaba more sick than he let on- or really, was he injured? That wasn’t a sickness thing, that was an injury thing. He had seen it many times before, in first year, when Oikawa would sit out of practice with his hands on his knee, the same grimace on his face that Yahaba had on his.

“Oi! Creampuff!” He pounds on the door again. The intercom crackles to life.

“I’m fine, Kyoutani-kun.” He says, his voice filled with frustration, the same way it sounds when Kentarou messes up one of his spikes, or when he can’t hang out with the team because his parents need him home. It’s not fine then, and it’s not fine now.

“Are you an idiot?” He hisses, trying the door knob. It doesn’t give. “I have eyes, you know. Open the fucking door.”

The intercom crackles again, turning off, and Kentarou goes still. There’s silence behind the door, and then the click of a lock turning.

It open slowly, and Yahaba peeks through the small crack he made, much lower than before. He’s still on the ground, evidently.

“I’m coming in.” Kentarou tries to keep his voice gentle, pushing the door open. Yahaba, avoiding his gaze, scoots to the side, allowing for the door to open. It slams shut behind him, and suddenly he’s in Yahaba’s apartment.

He doesn’t have time to marvel though- Yahaba is on the floor, clutching his knee the same way Oikawa did first year.

“Oi. You good?” He asks, kneeling down next to Yahaba, who gives him a feral grin.

“Take your shoes off in my house, would you?” He says, as demanding as ever. Kentarou sighs, kicking off his sneakers. His socks feel slippery against the bamboo floors of Yahaba’s place.

“So?” Kentarou asks, crouching back down again. Yahaba has managed to shift himself so he’s sitting on the edge of the genkan, one leg stretched out in front of him. His face is still contorted in pain, although he’s managed to mask most of it. “What’s up with you?”

“It’s nothing, Kyoutani.” He hissed through his teeth. “Help me up, would you?” He extends his hand, and Kentarou dutifully drags him up with him, Yahaba a bit wobbly. He’s obviously not putting weight on his left leg, gripping Kentarou’s hand tightly. 

“You fuck up your leg?” He asks slinging Yahaba’s arm over his shoulder. His skin burns where Yahaba brushes against it- he’s never liked being touched much.

Yahaba gives a short laugh. “Something like that. You can just bring me to the couch and leave, I’ll be fine from there.” He points to said couch, centered in the open living room-kitchen-foyer area. There’s already a blanket and a heating pad there- Yahaba had been there for some time, evidently.

“No offense, Creampuff, but you literally just collapsed. I’m not just going to leave you alone.”

“You know I hate when you call me that.” Yahaba sighs. And yeah, they had settled on a truce the end of second year, and he had promised not to call Yahaba Creampuff and Yahaba had promised not to call him Mad Dog, but he liked seeing Yahaba’s expression when he got irritated. 

“Yeah, yeah, sorry.” He helps Yahaba to the couch. Yahaba slides off, and Kentarou’s shoulders feel cold with the lack of his presence. “You gonna tell me what’s up? Shouldn’t your parents be looking after you if you’re sick?”

Yahaba’s face scrunches up, and he knows he’s hit a wrong chord. “They’re at work.” He says curtly, putting his leg up on the couch. “You don’t have to babysit me, you know. I can take care of myself.”

Kentarou huffs, crossing his arms. “Sure, says the guy who couldn’t even come to school for two days because he fucked up his knee.”

Yahaba grits his teeth, hand clenching in the blanket. He’s hit another sensitive spot, of course. He never knows how to back down, and that always ends up biting him in the butt.

“Kyoutani.” Yahaba says through clenched teeth, and Kentarou realizes he’s not _mad_. The expression on his face is that of pain, and he squeezes his eyes shut. “In the medicine cabinet, in the bathroom, second door to the left. The first aid kit. Could you get that?”

Kentarou blinks, finally moving when Yahaba opens his eyes to glare it him. The bathroom is easy enough to locate- Yahaba has always given good instructions- and he finds the first aid kit with little difficulty. “Here.” He places it on the couch and watches as Yahaba pops it open. He doesn’t thank Kentarou, which- valid, he’s in a lot of pain- but it’s still stings a little. 

Yahaba quickly opens the bottle of painkillers with the practiced ease of someone who has done this many times before, then shakes out two and dry swallows them. He exhales shakily, leaning back into the couch.

Kentarou let’s the silence stretch between them for a good five minutes before it becomes clear Yahaba isn’t going to say anything else. He clears his throat, which causes Yahaba’s fingers to twitch. 

“You feeling better?” He asks. Yahaba lifts his head, a little, and Kentarou notices the bags under his eyes. His hair hasn’t been brushed, and it falls into his eyes. Kentarou resists the urge to brush it away.

“Yeah, sorry.” Yahaba manages, shifting into a position more suitable for talking to people. “Um- thanks. I guess they wore off a little sooner than expected.”

Kentarou cautiously sits, watching as Yahaba’s foot scoots away from him. Yahaba busies himself with pretending that was purposeful, wrapping the heat pad around his knee. “You deal with this often?” Kentarou asks, and Yahaba’s shoulders flinch.

“Every-so-often.” His voice sounds light, but his hands are shaking. “It’s nothing for you to be concerned about. I’ll be back to practice tomorrow.”

“I’m not worried about practice tomorrow, Yahaba.” He says, frustration coming through in his voice. “I’m worried about you, right now. What the fuck is up?”

Yahaba’s light brown eyes flick over to him, widening slightly. His hands, massaging his knee over the fabric of the heating pad. “I don’t need your concern.” He mutters, gaze dropping back down.

“Obviously you do, asshole.” He grits his teeth. “Just tell me what’s wrong. I won’t leave until you do.”

Yahaba groans at that, tilting his head back on the couch. He’s quiet for a long minute, and Kentarou thinks maybe he’s resigned himself to his fate.

But then he starts talking.

“I’m not injured or anything. I just have chronic joint pain. It usually isn’t this bad it’s just-“ he lets out a frustrated noise, bending over his knee. His fingers twitch, eyebrows furrowing. “I don’t know why it’s this bad. The cold, or stress, or just a flair up.”

Kentarou exhales, unsure of what to say. “Sorry.” He finally settles, and Yahaba rolls his eyes. “I don’t mean about the joint pain- sorry for forcing you to tell me things.” He scratches the back of his neck, where the scruff of his hair grows long.

Yahaba makes a small noise- somewhere between a sigh and a laugh. “It’s fine. I was going to end up telling you eventually. Watari already knows.”

Kentarou huffs. “Yeah, well Watari’s your friend.”

Yahaba blinks, glancing over at him with a puzzled expression.

“What?” His ears turn red under Yahaba’s gaze, and he quickly glances away.

“Aren’t we friends too, Kyoutani?” Yahaba asks, his fingers digging into his knee. Kentarou twitches at the question. 

“Are we?” He shoots back, arms crossing subconsciously.

“Aren’t we?” Yahaba presses, and of course he’s not going to let it go, so Kentarou just sighs.

“I guess we are.”

He tries to ignore the warm feeling inside of his chest when Yahaba smiles at him, cheeks dimpling slightly. He hadn’t been aware of Yahaba’s dimples, and they take him by surprise. He shakes away the thoughts, shifting on the couch.

“Are you feeling better, at least?” He asks, and Yahaba gives him a faint smile. He seems more relaxed, a lot of the earlier tension in his shoulders gone. The drugs must be kicking in, then.

“Yeah. Like I said, I know how to handle it.” He leans over, slapping Kentarou’s shoulder. “You can leave now, since you’ve given me what I needed.”

“You sure?” Kentarou asks, before mentally cursing himself. He doesn’t want to stay here. But something makes him linger, hands curling into the couch.

“Yeah, I’m fine, Kyoutani.” Yahaba gives a small laugh, wiggling his foot as if to show how fine he is. “Go do whatever the heck it is you do after school.” He’s much friendlier now, Kentarou notices, now that the secrets out.

“When are your parents coming home?” He asks instead of leaving, and Yahaba’s face falls.

“My father usually finishes work at five, but it’s anyone’s guess as to when he’ll actually get home.” He presses his fingers into his knee, wincing slightly. “My mom works until midnight. My brothers... don’t live here.”

“Let me stay with you.” His mouth says without him wanting it to, and Yahaba gives him an incredulous look. “You’re my setter, okay? Can’t just leave you like this.” He mumbles the last part, losing confidence throughout the sentence.

“And we’re friends.” Yahaba tacks on, just to annoy Kentarou. 

Kentarou sighs. “And we’re friends.”

Triumphant, Yahaba grins. “Okay, bestie, go grab the remote.” He points to the small coffee table, less than five feet from Yahaba.

“Is this how you treat Watari?” Kentarou groans, shifting to his feet and reaching over to grab the remote. He has to lean over Yahaba to do so, holding his breath. 

“Watari’s too nice to be treated like this.” Yahaba shakes his head, snatching the remote from Kentarou’s hands. “You, on the other hand, are an asshole. I feel no remorse.”

“Takes one to know one.” Kentarou shoots back, settling back on to the couch and trying not to crush Yahaba’s leg. It’s a tight squeeze, the bare sole of Yahaba’s foot brushing against his uniform pants.

“Hey.” Yahaba calls his attention, shifting his foot slightly to give Kentarou more room. He grimaces, hands going to his knee for extra support. “Make yourself at home.” He says, a bit of sarcasm inching into his voice. 

Kentarou rolls his eyes, shifting into the space Yahaba had allowed him. His fingers twitch and, after a moment of hesitation, he takes Yahaba’s leg, sliding it into his lap. Yahaba makes a small noise of confusion, raising an eyebrow at him.

“What?”

“I thought you didn’t like touching people, Kyoutani.” He says, voice light and teasing. He makes no move to remove his leg, even after Kentarou starts massaging it.

“I’d rather deal with your smelly feet on me than have no space, thank you very much.” He retorts. “Now are we gonna watch something, or are you just gonna sit there with Netflix open?”

Yahaba laughs at that, turning his attention back to the screen. The light reflects off his eyes, illuminating his face. He looks- really nice in the light, with his hair down and face relaxed. His bangs, usually swept to the side, keep falling in his eyes. Kentarou resists the urge to tuck them behind his ear, but he keeps his hands on Yahaba’s knee, gently working it with his thumbs. 

“What do you want to watch, Kyou?” Yahaba asks, and Kentarou’s heart stutters to a stop. It’s so casual, the way Yahaba addressed him, and it’s only when Kentarou doesn’t answer that Yahaba seems to realize, his entire face flushing. “Ah- too familiar? Sorry.” He consciously runs a hand through his hair, and Kentarou can’t help but follow the movement.

“It’s fine.” He says gruffly, tearing his eyes away when Yahaba’s hands drop into his lap. “You’re just- not like this at school.”

There’s a sigh from Yahaba, his hand going to his hair again. “There are expectations at school. I’m supposed to be a role model, a good student, captain of the volleyball club.” His voice sounds tired, rough and grating on his vocal fray. “It’s a bit stifling. And at home-“ He cuts himself off, eyes darting away. “Well, this is generally how I act around Watari.”

“Ah.” Kentarou doesn’t really know what to say to that, but apparently he doesn’t need to. Yahaba starts scrolling through the movies again. 

“Well?” He turns, gesturing to the TV. “Look good?”

It’s a movie he’s never seen before- a romcom, by the looks of it. The bright pink font hurts his eyes, but Yahaba is looking at him like a challenge, so he just shrugs. “Sure.”

The movie is just as boring as Kentarou imagined, but he manages to endure half an hour of it. It’s not exactly the movies fault he can’t focus- his eyes keep drifting to Yahaba, who looks more relaxed now than he’s ever seen him. Every-so-often he’ll give a small laugh at something happening on screen, and Kentarou will pull his attention back to the movie.

“You’re pretty good at this.” Yahaba says softly. The movie is about halfway done- at least, he assumes it is- the main couple has reached a disagreement, a misunderstanding that forces one of them to the airport, where there will inevitably be a love confession. 

“At what?” He asks, glancing away from the TV to look at Yahaba. His gaze is on his knee, where Kentarou’s fingers still are. “Ah. My sister has stiff muscles, I massage her after work sometimes.”

Yahaba makes a small noise. “I didn’t know you had a sister.”

Kentarou hesitates. It’s an obvious invitation, but he isn’t exactly one to talk about his life.

“She’s older.” He says, as if Yahaba couldn’t tell, from the fact that she had a job. Idiot. “Uh- she’s eight years older than me, currently works as a mover, likes dying her hair.” He ticks off on his fingers. “That’s- enough general information, right?”

Yahaba snorts. “What are you, her Instagram bio?” He shifts, pulling the blanket higher over his shoulders. “I only asked if you had one, not her entire life story.” His eyes dart up to Kentarou. “Actually- I didn’t even ask. You’re strangely talkative today.”

Kentarou’s thumbs dig into Yahaba’s leg, a little more forceful than he wanted. “Thought friends talked to each other.” He mumbles, feeling his ears burn. Yahaba laughs at that, and he turns away.

“I’m not complaining.” He nudged his knee against Kentarou’s chest. “I have two brothers.” He begins, unprompted. His gaze is fixed back on the TV, but Kentarou can tell he’s not really paying attention. “I’m the middle child. My older brother is away at college, and my younger goes to a boarding school in Tokyo.” His voice is soft, betraying no emotion.

“Ah.” He doesn’t know what to say- a common occurrence today it seems. He doesn’t ask why Yahaba doesn’t live with his brothers- his family seems like a touchy topic, even sitting in the house they share. He instead opts to change the topic, turning back to the TV. “I think I missed part of the plot- have they gotten back together yet?”

Yahaba scoffs, rolling his head away from Kentarou. “Should’ve been paying attention, Kyou.” He sticks his tongue out, and Kentarou wrinkles his nose in response. The couple on the TV embrace, the taller woman cupping her companion’s face.

 _”I love you. I can’t bear to leave you alone like this.”_ Yahaba whispers next to him, at the same time as the woman speaks. Kentarou raises an eyebrow, about to ask a question- but Yahaba’s face, open and alight in the reflection of the television, makes him pause. He’s struck again with the thought that Yahaba is really, really pretty.

Yahaba turns to him, and the moment fades. He blinks a few times, erasing the image of Yahaba, open and unguarded. His expression now isn’t exactly closed off- but there is the cautious air around him that always hangs there. 

“Kyou.” Yahaba says, his eyebrows furrowing.

“Yahaba.” He responds, and Yahaba rolls his eyes. 

“You’re staring at me.” He leans back into the couch, a snooty smile crossing his face. “I know I’m pretty, no need to get all awestruck.”

 _You are._ His brain says, but he shakes the thought away, pinching Yahaba’s leg.

“Ow! What the heck!” 

“You sound too much like Oikawa, and I don’t need another one of those.” Kentarou says, and Yahaba’s incredulous expression drops. He reaches over- not that far, they’re closer than Kentarou remembers- and punches Kentarou’s shoulder.

“You’re such an asshole, Kyou.” The smile on his face is wide and carefree. The painkillers have probably long since kicked in, and Kentarou can tell in the way Yahaba’s eyes droop.

“You look tired.” He says, and gets a confirming hum. “Have you eaten dinner yet?”

“There’s some microwaveable meals in the freezer.” He tilts his head. “You hungry?”

Kentarou shakes his head, gently shifting Yahaba’s leg off his lap. He doesn’t miss the pain that shoots through his face, but it’s gone the second it appears. “I’ll heat it up for you, and then you should go to sleep. You look exhausted.”

Yahaba laughs, watching him make his way into the kitchen. “This is nothing- you should have seen me during finals week last year.” 

That statement does nothing to comfort Kentarou, and he wrinkles his nose, opening the freezer. The gust of cold air hits him and his shivers slightly, grabbing the first microwaveable meal he sees. There are plenty, a fact that is mildly concerning. 

“You good with... Beijing beef?” He calls, reading the packaging.

“Yeah, sounds good!” Yahaba shouts back from the living room.

Kentarou prepares it, locating Yahaba’s microwave after a few seconds. He sets the timer, returning to the living room.

“What time is it?” Yahaba asks him, craning his neck to look at Kentarou. He pulls out his phone, making a face when he sees the time. _11:49._ “That late?”

“It’s not too bad.” He dismisses, pocketing his phone. He had a few missed texts from his sister that he was going to ignore.

“I bet your parents are getting worried, huh?” Yahaba asks, twisting to face Kentarou. “You should probably get going.”

“You sure?” He asks, leaning against the back of the couch. “I don’t want to leave you alone like this.”

Yahaba blinks at him, expression a mix of shock and hesitation that doesn’t match up with what Kentarou said, then quickly shakes his head. “It’s fine, I can’t even feel anything anymore.” He gives a little laugh, hoisting himself up to standing position. He isn’t putting much weight on his leg, but if Kentarou didn’t know he was injured, he wouldn’t even be able to tell.

“Let me just get your food.” He says. Yahaba doesn’t respond or force him to leave, just gives him a small smile. The microwave beeps at him a few times, and he pulls out the tray. “Smells good, I’m jealous.” He jokes, placing it next to Yahaba.

“Thanks.” Yahaba hesitates, his fingers twitching. He opens his mouth, then closes it. “I’ll see you tomorrow?” He says, instead of whatever he was going to say earlier. It feels weird, but Kentarou doesn’t know what else to do, so he nods and slips his hands into his pockets.

“Yeah. Sleep well.” He lingers for another minute, unable to find a reason to stay. Yahaba gives him a small wave, and then he leaves.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! My tumblr is silvercrane14 if you want to talk! :))) Have a wonderful day!


End file.
